


The Man in the Invisible Castle

by UnicornPunk6



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Blood Magic, Castles, Changelings, Curses, Dark Magic, Death, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, England (Country), Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fantasy, Forests, Frayja, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gods, Gothic, Historical, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, Immortality, Immortals, Loki - Freeform, Love Triangles, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, Magical Tattoos, Manipulation, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Mythology References, Necromancy, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Odin - Freeform, Old Gods, Old Norse, Pagan, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Pagans, Pirates, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Vampire Bites, Vampire Cain, Vampires, Witch Curses, Witch Hunts, Witchcraft, Witches, fae, norse gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornPunk6/pseuds/UnicornPunk6
Summary: In a nearby town, a real-life horror story takes root as people begin to disappear once entering the woods surrounding the area. It is said that once you enter the woods you will never be seen again, and Captain Rhodes may have just become the next victim to this unusual plot as they run to escape the creature coming straight for them.An invisible castle on the hill saves them from yet another gruesome demise as they take shelter inside, however, they soon realise that the castle, as well it's occupants, are not all that they seem. With a mysterious man who doesn't like questions and a quiet blonde girl glued to his side, as well as his unconscious friend Caine for company, will Rhodes be able to uncover the secrets the castle and it's occupants are desperate to keep hidden?And are they ready for the answers they might find in return?
Kudos: 3





	1. The Fool

_ "My honest opinion and friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it - you will regret both." _

_ \- Søren Kierkegaard _

  
  


Zeus and Thor, the Heavens above have mercy on me now until I climb this hill and get my friend to safety in the castle that sits on the top. Is that a prayer? I smile weakly to myself, Galahad will be proud although I doubt any of the higher powers can hear my plea for help over the endless thunder and the rain as it smacks the mud. My feet slip under my friend Caine’s weight, I attempt to catch us without dropping his limp body. Instead I fall to the floor on my injured leg and cry out in pain. I sob, letting myself catch my breath and listening to Caine’s breathing. He takes shallow breaths but doesn’t say anything. I think he passed out when we left the woods. His clothes are drenched to the skin and strain red with his own blood, a strange change for the both of us. Standing up, I wince on my leg. I bite my lip and power through it all but I’m losing to my exhaustion

“Not long now,” I tell him and try to convince myself.

I keep my eyes on the castle, not trusting it not to disappear like it appeared. Every instinct tells me to go back, to turn away, to find a nice cave or someplace else, anywhere is better than here, turn back - I don’t have a choice. Whoever owns the castle must have magic and that’s what Caine needs. He mentioned that a wizard lives nearby. I’ve never heard the sort nearby. I always thought the magic folk resided outside of England, up north to Scotland or west to Wales and Ireland. But I trust Caine’s word and I have no choice. The orange lights from the windows show me the way to the castle between the flashes of lightning.

Every step is agony: a battle to not slip in the mud or falter under his weight and my pain. Lights in the castle seem so far off, it’s impossible. I’m going to pass out where I stand but I focus on my feet. One step before another and another, digging my heels into the mud for stability and yanking them out. It feels like an eternity but I get to some garden stones that vaguely resemble a path. I feel weak, my core is shaking with exhaustion, pain and cold. I can see the door in the centre of my vision as the corners darken. I reach out a feeble hand and plant it on the door. In my final moments of consciousness, I see my handprint glow red on the wood.

***

I wake up to two people talking outside of my door in hushed but loud voices.

“ _ Don't _ ask about how they found us here,” says a man.

“But sir, aren't you curious?” says a woman.

Opening my eyes slowly, I see where I am. Or I at least try to, my vision is too blurry to properly make out things in the room other than how much daylight is in the room. I wonder how long I've slept for? It doesn't feel like long enough at all. My body feels weighted and my head drowsy so I close my eyes again and will for sleep to take me again but the voices from outside my door just keep talking loudly. I think I understand how Galahad feels when he's trying to sleep and Caine and I are yabbering away.

“I am but if you ask, they'll try to stay longer because they'll be curious to why we're curious. The faster they're gone, the better.”

Hmmm, I wonder what secrets he has. I know that not everyone is too thrilled when two strangers fall on your doorstep, drenched in blood and looking half dead, I appreciate it might not have been the best experience for him but it's not like I had a choice. By the sounds of it, I should feel lucky that they even took us in. I'm not sure I do, not yet. His secrets could be that he's a murderer or uses children's blood to keep him young - you never know with magic folk. Never know with gods either however they had the stupid sense to tell humans about themselves and they wrote the stories down.

“But sir, why? Do you know them? Are they bad people?”

“No, they don't know me and it's better that way.”

Well now that is curious. It's funny, isn't it? The more someone tries to push you away or not say anything, the more you're itching to know what you're not allowed to know. Secrets are fickle things, I wonder what skeletons you have buried, Mr Mystery Man. Part of me knows I should listen to his warning because some secrets are best not knowing; the other half doesn't give two shits and needs to know, needs to know now. 

Why can't we know you?

Who are you?

I want to get up and ask him this, shock him but my body doesn't move. It's very keen on staying in bed and, as much as I do love days in bed, I panic. I can't open my mouth either to breathe like a panicked person so I sound rather odd huffing and sniffing deeply yet quickly. Where am I? Why can't I move? What has he done? I can't get air in me fast enough. I want to cough, cry, rock back and forth - SOMETHING so I can breathe and calm down. Why can't I move?

The door opens and someone comes walks in. They grab me, hold me down in place; I hadn't realised I'm shaking but had noticed that my body is damp with sweat despite being frozen to the core.

“It's okay,” utters a woman's voice. She sounds young now that she isn't being muffled by the door, she can't be much younger than marrying age. “It's okay,” she hushes. “You're safe, it's just a sleeping potion. You woke up early, that's all. You needed it to have a dreamless sleep in case what happened was scary.”

A fight for your life is scary when you're mortal but for me, it's like any other Tuesday. I relax my body and she lets go of me. The woman goes about the room messing with stuff - I can't see exactly what. I can't see much. The world is still blurry, as if I have sleep built up in my eye. Going back to sleep seems like a good idea, my body is still exhausted from last night - not that I can blame it. Fighting, running, dragging your friend's fat arse up a steep hill in the rain isn't lightwork. I'm glad I didn't dream about what happened again. I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come draw me back into its warm embrace.

And I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait

And I wait.

And nothing.

Opening my eyes, I sigh loudly. The woman is still in the room standing by the table in front of the window with her back to me. No time has passed except the 5 second I closed my eyes for. I peer at her, and around her. I can't see what she's doing, all I can hear is chopping and plants being ripped apart as she hums a soft melody to herself. I can make out her blonde hair and her brown dress. Brown is such a dull colour, she might have more fun in blue or red, something bright and exciting. Brown is a colour that looks awful on me, completely downplays my personality.

Last night I was sporting a royal blue silk waistcoat and a coat - until I lost the coat and the vest became soaked with blood. I glance down at my chest. All I see is an off white sleep shirt. I bet it washes me out - my skin is pale enough, I must be a ghost.

She turns around. “Oh,” she says, stopping in her tracks. “You're still awake.”

I say, “Aye, I am Miss. Who are you?” Or at least I try to say it. A strange sound comes out that I'm not even sure is human.

“You should sleep the potion off,” she says.

Really? I never thought that's what I had to do, I just assumed I should lay and wait for it to pass at an excruciatingly slow rate. If only I had thought about going to sleep. (If only I had the patience to wait for sleep to catch me).

“He warned me of this. He said to tell you to try to sleep because the potion won't wear off for a while yet.”

I stare blankly at her as that's all I can do. Can  _ he  _ make me go back to sleep? Surely must be as easy as clicking his fingers or muttering words under his breath. How long is a while? A few more days? Devil I hope not. Being unable to talk is my personal hell - trust me, I've been my hell cell once so I know exactly what punishment is waiting for me at the end of this long life.

“If I bring him in, he'll only put you back under and we might be here again only a few hours later.” I swear she whispers: “Or burying you in the garden,” which isn't very comforting. Waking up underground is never fun, digging your way out is exhausting and you suffocate to death again and again until you can break through to the surface.

She continues, filling in the silence, “Your friend is alive.” I suspected as much. “He was as good as dead when we found him, but now he has a healthy heartbeat thanks to the sir's concoctions.” I could laugh, Caine has never had a heart beat in all the time I've known him.  _ The sir _ is lying to his own apprentice. Or delusional, although I doubt it.

“The marks on your friend are strange, I've never seen nothing of the sort before. How did he get them?” I'm not too sure if she means the wounds he obtained or his scarring. In any case, I don't have a feasible answer for her but the Sir would know. “I hope whatever you escaped from that you hadn't led them here.”

Trust me darling, I'm hoping for the same thing. We barely got out in one piece - not that being in one piece is a matter of importance to us, it's just useful. Anyway this castle just appeared out of nowhere so I have the sneaking suspicion our enemies can't see it.

“You, on the other hand, healed so quickly. Inhumanly fast, in fact.” She chews her lip, troubled by the idea of it all. I don't blame her, this is incredibly weird to anyone who isn't like us so that would be everyone else.

Attempting to reassure her, I smile at her. She scowls back. “Don't do that with your face, you look odd.” A blow to my ego - my champion smile has faded away with this damn sleeping potion. “I'm Annie. I should've told you that earlier.”

“Annie!” Someone hisses, probably 'the sir' she mentioned earlier. He strides across the room and pushes her away from me. “What did I say about talking to them?!”

“To not to,” she avoids his eyes and cowers in shame.

“You told her to not tell me anything about you, but it doesn’t mean I can’t ask,” I force out. My voice is hoarse and scratchy, like Jesus during his 40 days in the desert without water. I swallow, then wince at the pain from swallowing with a mouth so dry that Jesus could've wandered in it on his 40 day fast.

Both of them stare at me with wide eyes - it's good to know that my vision is clearing up. I don't think I was supposed to talk yet. Neither of them say anything to me, am I supposed to perform a song and dance? Perhaps after some water. Or wine, or whatever really, as long as it's liquid. “Water… please.”

The man let's go of Annie. “I'll take it from here, why don't you take care of the other guest?” She nods at him and scurries off but not as though she's afraid of him and instead that she's too eager to make him proud.

He searches for a cup. When he finds a tin mug, it glows in his hands before he walks over to me. Gently, he holds me up because my body still doesn't want to cooperate with my will and pours the water into my mouth. It's heaven. Truly. I feel blessed. He watches me drink, his raven black hair tumbles from behind his ears and into his face, hiding his eyes. Then he places me and the tin cup down. Despite his aggression towards Annie, he is kind.

“Thank you, that's much better,” I say.

He nods once back at me. “You should sleep.”

“I'm not tired. How long have I slept?” I cut back in before he can scold me or tell me otherwise.

He doesn't raise an eye to my forthrightness where most would. In fact, he seems grateful for it. “A few days.” He tidies up a few things around the room; putting away books and cleaning up things on the table.

“Annie said my friend is alive, how?”

He shakes his head, “My turn to ask a question.”

I scowl, or I think I scowl. It's hard to say when you can't feel your face. “Go ahead.”

“How did you find us?”

I relax. I don't see any point to not be honest. “We were running and it appeared. I didn't want to come here, I wanted to go away.” I recall my feelings from the other night. I just felt dread coming up here. I felt dread turning back too. “But I didn't have a choice. Now your turn.”

“That's enough for now.” He gathers the pile of books and holds them on his hip like they're his baby. “When it's time to eat, Annie will bring you supper.”

I scowl again at him. “I have more questions.”

“And they can wait.”

“Answer my questions,” I demanded.

“No.” He walks over to the door

“I don't even know your name!”

“You didn't ask wisely,” he places his hand on the door handle.

The feeling of helplessness looms over me and all sense of power slips through my fingers. This man, this mysterious man has all the power in this castle, he holds the crown and I need to be cleverer than him.

“My name's Rhodes,” I say, hoping to knock him off guard.

“I'm aware.” The door slams shut behind him.

It’s strange being cared for when normally you wake up after being stabbed or other misfortunes to find yourself perfectly fine. In this instance I am fine, healthy even. But unable to move. I can talk and nothing ever stops me from talking except from the few rare exceptions that render me silent because of the utter awkwardness of it all such as when Annie comes in to check my healed wounds and gather some things she needs from the room. We both know that she isn’t allowed to answer any of my questions and I don’t want to tempt her with the option to.

In the time that she is away, I amuse myself. I still can’t move and the room doesn’t have much except from an apothecary table, a cabinet with glass windows showing off a rather extensive book collection. To begin with I couldn’t make out any of the titles but as my vision returned and I could see the gold lettering on the spines. I turn my focus elsewhere. What I could see from the bed is a window and through it, a tree. A tree that has purple leaves and birds flying through and around it. I can’t tell you the types of birds except that one is a robin and I think this one is a sparrow, judging from how it swoops when it flies. When they’re not around, there’s a red squirrel jumping from branch to branch as if it’s nothing to him. And when there’s no animal to watch, I start to count the leaves.

It’s a shock to no one, but eventually that gets boring and dull so I turn my attention to trying to move. This is slightly more tricky however I figure if I forced myself to talk when I shouldn’t, then I’d be able to move when I shouldn’t. Pure determination and stubbornness will be my answer to this, as it is my answer to everything that seems unstoppable. I will my hand to move and it does.

“Well, that didn’t waste as much time as I hoped.”

I sit up, feeling a bit faint and drowsy although that’s to be expected when you’ve been drugged up and shouldn’t even be awake yet. Some might say it’s remarkable, I say it’s having the metabolism of a young nun because I can’t die. Because everything else has worked out swimmingly, I try my luck at standing up. I had been sleeping for a good few days so I really shouldn’t be surprised when my legs give out from under me and I go crashing down into the table at an odd angle. A sharp searing pain shoots through my head as I hit the corner of the apothecary table.

“Damn you!” I shout, rubbing my forehead. Maybe it's immortality or maybe I’m just weak but I swear everything hurts you a lot more when you can’t die. The gods themselves saw me and took it as some personal challenge to see how far is too far. Stubbing my toe is too far.

Annie comes running in, panicking about something, probably about me but I don’t want to be too self centred. “Are you okay? I heard a thud!”

“I think all of England heard a thud,” I say.

Shaking her head, she grabs me by my armpit and forearm to hoist me onto the bed. It’s less of a hoist and more of a drag. She should never go into medical care, I nearly fall out of her grip and then she drops me onto the bed. I’d have more grace getting myself onto the bed drunk and trying to work off this damn sleeping potion. “We’re in Scotland.”

“Scotland?” My voice pitches.

“Well, we’re by the border. Why? Where are you headed?”

I shrug. I don’t actually know where I am going or where I’m supposed to go. Caine and I were going to deal with that eventually but I think he was concerned about finding something interesting to discover. “Just some place far away. I didn’t expect to be this far away. How’s Caine?”

“Oh so that’s his name. Very biblical, I wouldn’t have thought a man of his colouring would be named after a bible figure.”

She looks like she wants me to explain how that came to be, but I don’t have a feasible answer for her.  _ The Sir  _ might if he knows who I am because Caine is older than me and anyone I know. The pair of them might be able to think of some bullshit like his slave owners decided it was a fitting name for a slave - both have to walk around shouldering a burden, albeit two very different burdens and slavery is far more worse than the other. Caine isn’t some innocent man who found himself under the extreme misfortune to be sold as a slave. No, Caine is  _ the  _ Cain from the Bible but with an ‘e’ to distance himself from the tale and anyone who’s stupid enough to argue that Caine should be white is too stupid to realise that Caine comes from Africa - a very not white nation - and probably shouldn’t be teaching the Bible. He killed his brother Abel thousands of years ago _ 'and the Lord placed a mark on Cain, so that no one who found him would kill him. So Cain left the Lord’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden.' _ Or something like that. God made him something less than human as it was clear to Him that Caine was someone without humanity - the punishment fit the crime.

“He decided to convert to Christianity and changed his name,” I say, hoping it would make them still willing to help him. He’d hit me if he heard me say that - rather melt in lava than worship  _ that  _ God.

Instead, Annie furrows her brow. “Christians… Your kind are killing pagans.”

“Oh. Well in that case I was lying. He calls them ‘Shitstains’ and rather burn in fire than say a prayer.” She nods her head like she agrees but scowls when she realises that she still doesn’t understand why he is called Caine. She doesn’t press and I don’t tell her. “I’m Rhodes.”

“That’s an interesting name Miss.”

I cringe, “Please don’t call me Miss. Or Mr.” Do I tell her to call me a captain? I don’t own a ship or have a rank in the human army but it is still my title. “It’s Captain Rhodes. I don’t like being called a man or a woman.”

“That’s so odd. Why?”

I shrug. “It makes me feel weird and uncomfortable. I’m just me.”

She seems confused by the idea still but I don’t feel the need to explain further. The air fills with awkwardness again. Before I have a chance to fill it, she does. “There are clothes in the room on the right. When you’re ready, get dressed and go down stairs - they’re at the end of the corridor. You’ll be able to find the dining room easy enough and there will be food waiting. Mind you, it’s not some fancy meal. Just a stew.”

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” I smile at her. She leaves the room and I’m alone again.


	2. The Magician

_“Never turn your back on fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed.” - Hunter S. Thompson_

  
As Annie said, I do find the dining room quite easily - if finding it easily means checking every door on the corridor. Most of them are locked, The Sir did seem keen to keep us out and away. One of the doors opens and I feel excited because food. My face drops when I discover that it’s just an empty room. The locked doors I can try my hand at picking them and find Caine.

The words, “He’s alive,” echo through my head but that could mean anything. He’s barely breathing, missing a limb, he’s just sleeping. The vagueness doesn’t make me trust any of them.

I open another door - this filled with furniture but empty of people with Annie looking after Caine and The Sir avoiding me. I think I prefer it like this. A huge fire crackles in a fireplace that’s equally as big, the flames licking the bottom of an iron pot that is happily bubbling away. Instantly I'm hit with the smell of a rumpious beef and vegetables in a thick gravy. My stomach rumbles loudly, I can’t remember the last time I ate. As I draw closer to the fireplace I realise that I can see on the other side of it to a kitchen - an empty kitchen that's old and worn, the stone glowing orange with the fire. I could probably climb through now and not be harmed by the fire which is a terrible idea that I now really want to do.

I find a bowl on the mantle and notice an old family portrait hanging above it. The paint is cracking with age but it’s still extremely detailed. The artist managed to get the finer details of the family's clothes and the chair that three of the members stood around. In the centre, sat in the chair is a young boy who couldn’t be much older than a teenager. He had blond hair like the woman beside him and he smiles brightly at the painter. His cheeks must have ached by the end of it all. His clothes are blue - a very good sign of wealth and prosperity. I wonder where that all went? The castle seems to be grand enough but I’ve only seen Annie and the mystery man. Behind the child is someone who looks an awful lot like The Sir with his pale skin and dark hair but I haven’t seen him since my vision cleared up. There’s definitely some sort of family resemblance there. Beside him are two older adults: a woman in a pale pink gown and blonde hair; and a man with darker hair wearing some very old clothing.

“Where are they now?” I say to myself, filling my bowl with stew. Then it dawns on me. “Dead and buried. Portrait is too old for them to be alive,” but I don’t dwell on it. I take a seat at the big dining table before the fireplace facing the door on the other end of the room. I eat it all by myself.

This is depressing. Not the stew - it’s lovely, if missing a few herbs to really give it that something. The whole castle needs something too - something to make it more lively and less melancholic. People would be a great place to start, and some music. Animals would also be a great start. Alas, this isn’t my home to replan and I’ll be leaving soon enough.

The door opens and I see The Sir walk in. “I see you found the dining room,” he says. I could see him clearly now if it isn't for the limited light of the fire.

I nod. “The only door that wasn’t locked and had something interesting behind it.” I hope it makes him feel inclined him to tell me why this is but he ignores me, walking past me.

I hear some clattering as he fills his own bowl up with the stew. Then he looms behind me. “You’re in my seat.”

Normally I'd apologise and move but he hasn't answered any of my questions so I don't budge. “First come, first serve,” I say. He sighs and then sits himself on the opposite side of the table. I suppose it isn’t worth arguing over a chair and he seems tired. The dim light from the fire casts a shadow over his face; his eyes look incredibly dark and he moves slowly. The rooms fell quiet save for the scraping of the bowls with the spoons and snapping of the fire. “What’s your name?”

“Why do you need to know?”

I sigh, of course he was going to be difficult over his name. “Because I can’t keep calling you The Sir.” I just about see his lips turn up at this. “I’ll be gone shortly, once my friend is fine and until then I’d like to be able to call you your name since you already know mine.”

“I know your friend’s too,” he says, dodging my question.

I scowl. I'm not sure if he's doing this to show he has the upper hand or if he's just oblivious.“How?”

“We’ve met.” I think he means him and Caine because I’ve never laid eyes on him before. Perhaps that's how he knows about me - Caine talking about me in passing words and he just made a correct assumption to who I was. It doesn't make it less annoying because now I want to know how he knows Caine.

“You’re a man of a few words.”

“And you’re a man of many.”

I scowl more at him and decide to keep asking questions to spite him. “What is this castle?”

“Well,” he waits to swallow his food, “It’s a castle.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “I know that but most castles don’t appear out of nowhere.”

“It’s always been here, are you sure you didn’t notice it? You were very tired,” he says with a patronising tone. “And you were running away from something. What were you running away from?” he asks, trying to change the topic.

I stand my ground, this is the one of the few situations that being as stubborn as God comes in handy. “I know what I saw. It wasn’t on the hill then it was.”

“You might have been thinking of a different hill, then got all turned around in the commotion of running away from what in the woods?”

Ignoring him, I talk louder and hope he understands I’m not letting go of it. “We fled in a straight line once we left the woods and into the clearing. I kept my eyes on the hill to avoid getting lost in the storm. All I know that is that I didn’t want to come to the castle which isn't normal.”

“There’s a reason for that, you should’ve listened,” he snaps. His spoon clangs against the bottom of the metal bowl and he scrapes it against the bottom as he shovels up food.

My blood boils. If there's anything I hate most, it's people telling me I made the wrong choice. The chair scrapes against the stone floor as I stand up. “I had no choice, it was either here or a worse fate than death. Anyone would take the uninviting castle over that.”

There are more questions to be asked but I'm too caught up in myself to ask them now. I storm across the room, which isn’t nearly as fun when you have to walk past the person you’re trying to storm away from although the slam of the door is satisfying. My anger leaves with every stamp and the last of it disperses when the door closes with a bang. The corridor is dark and I’m alone in this depressing castle again.

With nothing else to do, I decide to venture around the castle. Sleep is an option however I've done enough of that recently to last a lifetime. Just when I had fixed my sleeping habits too, I manage to mess it up again.

Moonlight shines through the windows and none of the torches are lit. I don't think they have the staff to do them all. Across the courtyard, I can see one room lit which could either be Annie’s, the stranger's, or Caine’s. It seems like a good place to try to find. The first thing I discover is that the castle has a lot of locked doors. Usually it’s an easy fix with my satchel of tricks to help me overcome such barriers but I’m not sure if I lost it in the chase or if it was taken from me by Annie or the stranger. I don’t know what happened the other night. It’s all one big hectic haze filled with chaos and mess, made worse with the sleep concoction. Oh I just want to talk to Caine about it to make sense of the attack and this castle and the strange man who owns it. Annie might be able to help with enough sweet talk.

The second thing I discover is that they have an awful lot of tapestries and paintings lining the walls. I feel watched by the paintings, like I should be on my best behaviour. Some of them I can only assume are family members and good friends of the family - the name changes once or twice with a date of their birth and their death. The ones I walk past are of more recent years. The tapestries seem to detail life events like weddings and some of them, tales of myths and legends I know very little of.

The locked doors become less intriguing and more annoying. Just when I think that I’m getting to a door to the outside or to a set of stairs, it’s locked or an empty room or worse, another corridor that looks like the same corridor I was just in but with different members of the family. I turn this way and that, no understanding of where I’m going or where I’ve been, the parts of the castle I can see make less and less sense. I head through another corridor and discover it looks like the same corridor I was just in. This has to be some sort of spell to keep me out and the only person I can think of who’d cast it is The Sir which isn’t a comforting thought. I don’t know where the dining room is or where I was sleeping - I don’t know anything anymore but I do know this: the castle is driving me mad.

By some good fortune, perhaps some gifted by a few pitying gods, I stumble into a library. It’s big enough to be from a monastery or a university. With no fire, the room is cold with damp and it's too dark to see the collection of books The Sir owns.

There is a large stained glass window on the far side wall. I think this used to be a church - even if they don't practice Christianity, it's a clever way to not get clocked by any locals. At least before the castle became invisible. The window itself is a beautiful, intricate depiction of Jesus on the cross with the thieves behind him. One of the thieves has the golden halo around his head like Jesus, which means he can only be St Dismas the Penitent thief. Mary, in blue, is on her knees praying for God to have mercy on her son. But my eyes are drawn to the other thief who has no special markings or bright colours, the Impenitent thief Gestas. I think, given my purpose in life he is supposed to be me and my friend Galahad is St Dismas. While the window is gorgeous, the people are oddly shaped and faces aren't like anything the Renaissance artists. However there is only so much you can do with glass.

I wander through the shelves, my fingers running against the spines. My hands occasionally brush against the engravings of plants in the wood of the shelves, the only interesting part of the library. No, the second most interesting thing, the first being the books, obviously, and how he has acquired such a vast collection of knowledge that I’m sure wars have been fought over. Why does one person need so many? Surely it couldn’t just be his collection, he’s far too young and some of the books feel too old and delicate. Might be a family trait but this is one obsessive and expensive practice to keep up. Perhaps that’s where the staff have gone, the family have decided that being staffless is worth upholding this family tradition. Personally I think that’s a bullshit decision and would much rather be waited on but maybe that’s just me and how I don’t find the poor life ‘quirky’ and ‘fun’ and something to gawk at like the nobles who decide to visit the rough parts of London as a pastime for enjoyment.

I wish I had a match to light the torches but I don’t. I squint at the book spines, hoping my eyes will eventually adjust to the darkness so I can see the words on the spines. Getting bored of that far too fast, I grab a book at random and walk over to one of the smaller window windows. There’s a draft breathing down my neck but I ignore it, flicking to a random page of the book with dust flying up. Under the moon’s light I can see the words on the paper almost clearly if I squint at it hard enough. I stare at the page I chose by chance and hope that I can make sense of it all.

I snap it shut.

“I don’t know why I bother, I still can’t read.”

“Maybe we can help you?” says a whisper in the shadows.

My head shoots around the room. Nothing is there but I’ve been around long enough to know that seeing isn’t always believing. Rather than do the foolish thing and call out ‘who’s there’ (never really ended well, it’s why I’m in this place to begin with), I laugh, which is the second most foolish thing I could do.

“Do you mock us?” The whisper doesn’t sound like one entity but several talking at once.

My heart pounds faster and harder against my chest, so hard that there’s no way it can’t be heard outside of my physical self. “No?” my voice pitches off. So much for sounding brave.

It seems to believe me. “Let usss help you”. The voices move to a different corner of the room, my head following the sound.

Lucifer or Galahad probably has some notes, Galahad an entire lecture, on how to deal with spirits in the shadows that talk to you. Galahad would just tell me that it's stupid, foolish and crazy, best to politely decline and then go on and go on about what could happen if I don't. Luci would tell me to check that I'm not crazy (and I'm quite certain the insanity hasn't hit me yet) and then say to stand my ground and command them.

“They’re weak. They thrive on the weak. No better than a demon. And what are demons?” He’d ask. “My bitch,” would be my answer.

“No,” I say. My voice wobbles again, not as assertive as I want to be. I’m clutching onto the book for dear life, my knuckles white and blotchy around the cover. I don’t think I’m breathing. I don’t think I’m doing anything. I should say something more. To show them that I mean business but politely. “Go away.” I wave at hand in the voices general direction to shoo them off. Neither, I decide to be neither polite or commanding.

The voices laugh. “You’re scared.”

“No,” I say. “I’m not. Leave me alone.” I sound like a school child. My spirit has definitely left my body and I'm watching my body do and say these things. I have no control or say over it but I want to punch myself, knock myself out of this awkward, embarrassing misery. I need to do something with more… I don't know, anything is better than this.

“Why?” it breathes out. It’s drawing closer. “We can help each other.” I don’t think I want it’s help nor do I want to know what it needs help with. I’m sure the mystery man and Annie can help me just fine if I need it or I can just bloody leave.

“I’m good, thank you.” I wish I could die on the spot. “I best be going.” I try to figure out where to move to. It’s very difficult when you can’t see your enemy and you're not sure if it's filling the entire space of the shadow. But it is drawing closer to me, the heavy sound of irregular breathing is getting closer.

It steps to the edge of the shadow and I get a good look at the creature, blood draining from my face.

It’s… I don’t know what it is. It’s not human, at least not anymore. It’s a clump of, I don’t know? Shadow beings, ghosts almost but not. It’s a clump of them. Each face is twisted out of shape and screaming silently but it is making a noise. They have hands and arms and elbows and knees and legs and feet sticking out like their limbs are pins and the body is the pin cushion. I think it’s in pain.

My breath catches in my throat, I don’t think I’m even breathing. Is it the creature in the woods? Did it follow us? My stomach twists and I swallow the nausea building in my throat.

“You ssshhhould. You need usssss.”

I don’t know what comes over me but I throw the book at the entity - fear I assume. Shockingly, it doesn’t improve my prospects. It lurches towards me and the fear kicks in. I turn and run - the most logical thing I've done the entire interaction but better late than never.

The monster follows me making weird inhuman sounds that are somewhere between a hiss and a scream. Grabbing a bookshelf, I slide around the corner and almost launch myself ahead like I'm going some place. Running with a plan. I glance back and it's still there, but it keeps the shadows. I can't get to the door I came through, it's surrounded in darkness.

I'm well and truly damned.

Is now a bad time to start praying to God after a lifetime of not bothering to?

My eyes fall on the stained glass window.

I need to get high to break through and have speed.

Scrambling up the shelves, I begin to jump from one bookcase to another, my boots slipping a little on the varnish. The thing is still behind me, closer too. There's a good 30 rows of books. I think it’s wheezing. Or it could be me. Jumping across them wears me out more than running. I have no other choice.

I miss a jump.

My heart jumps in my mouth. I catch myself by my elbows but my feet swing and hit the shelves with enough force to wobble the shelves which is enough to get the books to move forward and that's enough to get the shelf to start falling forward and now my hands are going to get trapped between the shelves; I’m falling into the other shelf Rhodes I need to move now, move now you useless shit.

I scramble and get my feet onto the shelf in time to step - yes step - onto the next shelf as the one I’m standing on crashes into the other and then onto the next and the next. It occurs to me that they’re going to hit the stained glass window and it’s going to break it as I stand on the final rows falling over. This is one extreme game of dominos. Each hits the other with a loud clunk and books hit the floor with hefty thuds. On the last shelf, I jump, my arms covering my face.

CRASH!!!

THUD!

My feet hit the grass but I bend my legs with the impact and roll. The glass cuts my arms and back, it stings like a bitch but nothing I've haven't experienced before.

I peer through my arms for my next plan. The shards of glass fall down and settle in the garden like a forbidden snow. Across the green is a house, a gatehouse. I should leave. Anywhere is better if that thing is here. Caine will be fine; he'd manage by himself.

The shadow monster screams at the hole in the old church. I just pelt it across the green towards the other building. It doesn't have a gate or a moat, just a door - the door I collapsed in front of. This is my favourite door. There will be a nearby town and I can stay there, surely. I don’t know if the thing is still following me, I don’t care. I want out. My legs are burning as are my lungs but I can’t stop running. Caine will understand. Caine will understand.

I get to the gatehouse and by some luck and fortune, the door is open. I throw it open and breathe in the smell of freedom. I'm trying to ignore the forest from Hell at the bottom of the hill but that should be easily avoided. I run out and I don't take four steps before I hit an invisible wall.


	3. The Magician Reversed

**The Stranger’s P.O.V.**

_ “Just another freak, in a freak kingdom” _

_ \- Hunter S. Thompson _

I let out an exasperated sigh when Captain Rhodes storms out and my head falls into my hand that’s resting on the table.

_ Elbows off the table _ says a shrill voice in my head. I don't know who says it, it's one voice from an archive of the many family members who said the same thing to me over the years. I wish it was my mother's, however, she's been gone for far too long for me to remember the sound of her voice. She often said pointless phrases like that but she was a big believer in societal values, so I believe that’s where the trend started in my family.

That's something I didn't inherit and I'm grateful for it. All this time has passed to still be governed by a higher, invisible power that only wants to see me in misery? No thank you. Anyway, most social standings are a pointless act to show how civilised you are by judging you against the current mannerisms of polite society; I would have been deemed an animal years ago now. Personally, I think the languages of flowers outside of a helpful use like medicinal and magic add no value to anyone's life. If you send a lady a flower, she shouldn't be worrying about whether or not the flower means "death", instead she should be happy to have a beautiful flower. The rituals in which a woman engages in so her father can show suitable men that she's of marrying age and up for bidding are degrading: she's not even allowed to introduce herself to any man if she doesn't know him. Then men have to carry themselves in such a peculiar manner too. Not being too forward, unable to talk about anything interesting and have to vaguely convey your political views without being offending.

It’s all pointless meandering until they find their final resting place. I’d much rather just tell them to shut up and go away.

The local common folk are the most bothersome. What part of a castle in which no one ever seems to leave screams “please come and bother me and my day”? They’re always at my door with their demands:

“Oh Mr Magician, I need a spell for my crops to grow.”

“Oh Mr Magician, do you have a spell to make my fishing nets full?”

“Oh Mr Magician, is there a spell to make boys look my way?”

“Oh Mr Magician, please heal my wounds.”

“Oh Mr Magician, make my sick son well.”

Oh just leave me be!

But I can’t deny them the help. If I don’t do as I’m told then I’d have no money and if I deny them then I risk them going off to tell the guards at the nearest outpost about my existence, although there isn’t much they can do about it.

Annie says I need to be nicer to strangers. “Talk more or at least smile,” she said.

“I don’t have a reason to smile at someone.”

She huffed and blew the blonde twisted strand of hair in her eyes out of her face, placing her hands on her hips in a matronly way. “You smile because you’re grateful to see them.”

“But I’m not.”

In retrospect, I think she was offended that I don’t seem grateful for her. I eat the stew that she cooked for us and I wear the clothes she cleaned - I had told her many times that she needn’t bother because I could simply use magic but I suppose I kept forgetting to do the simple things for us both, especially myself. She’s hired herself as my housekeeper and she keeps a good documentation of the spell orders we get from the locals. Because it’s usually her who gets pestered by the village folk, she gets a lot of local and national gossip that I don’t really care for. I get told who the current King is and what war we’re fighting in next. I don’t understand the war or royalty, I’m ever grateful that the crown forgot about my family and myself.

I sink lower into my chair and stare across the oak dining room table. Moving back into my seat is too petty, I don’t want to have argued with Captain because I wanted my chair back at the table. My family’s portrait is already judging me enough without this on top. I eat my stew in silence but I can’t help but miss the company of others. I should’ve brought a book with me; they’re the greatest company a man can have - namely because it stops talking to me whenever I don’t look at the page. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Caine, perhaps I can wake him from his spelled sleep.

“You must forgive me, but I don’t fancy having the first murderer to be created by that God to be allowed to roam my home, especially with Annie about,” I could say.

No, I oughtn’t mention Annie, he might get a little excited and I haven’t yet explained to her what he is yet so she might not believe me. It is hard to fathom. I hope I don’t have the luxury to explain it to her and the pair can leave before she has to know anything.

THUD!

THUD!

THUD THUD!

THUD THUD THUD!

What on  Jörð’s  earth is that? The gravy in my bowl shakes and my family portrait bounces against the wall as the thuds and crashes continue. Is this the end? Ragnarok?

It’s about time but I would’ve been warned 3-5 business days beforehand by the Fates - I believe Ur ðr would tell me but any of the Nords might . This is something else. Intuition tells me that this has to be the work of Captain Rhodes and this troubles me. I jump to my feet, dropping the spoon in the bowl and the chair scrapes against the floor before getting caught on the carpet and tipping over. It lands with a soft clank. I run out to the corridor, my lungs burning and my chest wheezing because I actively avoid this sort of hobby.

There’s a shattering of a glass that could only come from the library and then silence.

Bursting into the library with a stumble, I frantically look around to what can only be described as a warzone. Glass has spilled all over the room, the window didn’t hold up at all against the force of the bookcases. Torn up pages and damaged books litter the floor and are trapped between the fallen shelves - that’s an easy enough fix with enough glue and magic, but it’s the organisation I’m worried about. The air is musty with startled dust and it’s thick with the smell of mothballs. There’s no blood, there’s also no sign of anyone.

It couldn’t have been Annie, she’s nowhere near this much of a disaster and Caine’s still asleep. It has to be Captain Rhodes. Captain, as I remember them to be, was full of bad ideas and the capability to do them. I shouldn’t have taken them in. Outside of the fact that I’m not allowed to make myself known to them, their entire visit has been arguments and now this mess. Although no one could’ve predicted them turning up on my doorstep nearly dead with Caine who was even more nearly dead. However, neither can really be nearly dead, can they? Where are they? I walk towards the window, every step I take crunches and cracks. I peer over the stone, careful to not get cut by the glass, to see Captain by the gatehouse doing  _ something. _

I wrinkle my nose. I don’t want to go over and see what they’re doing, I should start tidying up because this will take a long time to do.

Heading outside, I feel the cool night breeze blowing through my hair. In some weird way that I don’t think many would understand, it feels cozy. Being outside feels like home - as long as I’m still within the castle’s decrepit walls which I should try to fix; too many find their current appearance inviting and we can’t have that. The broken glass shards glimmer under the moonlight in an array of colours. I’d find it beautiful if it won’t be a pain to tidy up and dangerous to fix, which means there’s a little carving in the glass that could be undone. I hope not. It’s old and from a time of my life that I can’t ever get back. The new gaping hole in my home means anyone or anything can just walk in, I need to fix that before tomorrow. But that can wait for now, as I can see the Captain pounding on what I presume to be the door under the gatehouse and behind the wall that’s blocking my view. There used to be a gate underneath but I got tired of people staring into my home and watching me garden and ignore them while they shout for my attention. There’s a spell on that door that connects to a bell - it rings whenever someone knocks so Annie knows when to deal with a potential customer. Once, a long time ago now, there used to be people living in the gatehouse - another family to be exact that used to work for mine. They left eventually, they were the ones who ended up dead when someone wanted to burn the Witch in the Castle.

I’m careful to not step on the shards on the grass to avoid breaking the glass further as I get closer to Captain Rhodes. The don’t notice me. They still hit on what I now see to be nothing but the invisible wall that surrounds my family’s grounds. They will ask about that, if I don’t distract them with a question of my own: “What happened to my library?” It comes out as a snap. I’m not sure if I meant it to.

Their head whips around, their long red hair tumbling from a bun that is falling apart. They look almost feral with their eyes filled with anger and panic, their breath heavy and their hair in a wild, bushy mess. Their clothes have had layers of spells put on them to be clean that it reeks of magic. I can nearly see through the hazy layers and see the blood stains that cover them. “What the hell is in there?!” they bark, “What was it?”

I think the state of the library is more important. Most of those books are centuries old and the only living copy. Many monks have come to me for tellings of days gone past - not that I’m much use to them because I don’t like paying attention to any of it - or they give me the books they’ve written. I’m not certain if that’s because I will keep them safe from people who may seek to destroy them or to help me pass time in my life. I’d rather it be the former rather than the latter; it doesn’t feel as pitying and pathetic being the guardian of the books. It’s not my fault that it decided to take residence in the library. I hoped it wouldn’t make itself known to them. Although hoping never does anyone any good, I should’ve asked it to ignore the new visitors but everytime I talk to it, I get chilled to my core.

“Tell me!” Captain spits in my face.

I blink and wipe their saliva away with my sleeve. I shiver a little, they haven’t brushed their teeth since they got here but that’s not their fault. I don’t want to answer the question because I’m sure they will punch me and I’d rather avoid having a broken nose. So again I ask, “What happened to my library?”

They shove their jaw forward and grit their teeth. “There was a  _ thing  _ in there that was going to attack me.”

Well now, that’s a bit much. It’s not exactly threatening, just frightening to look at or be around because it’s unnatural. It’s never attacked me and at most it’s only ever wanted to make an agreement. I have no idea what happens when you do deal with it, I’ve never gotten that far even though I am terribly curious about what it wants. A good sales pitch with a devil never tells you what it wants in return until after you agree to it after all. “Did you agree to it?” I ask, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“ _ No _ ,” they hiss. At least they had some sense about them, I’ve had to completely ban Annie from the main library because she kept getting too sucked into her own empathy to be deeply afraid of it. Unless she wasn’t normal or human - a thought I had entertained a few times but the results have always suggested that she is simply human.

I believe the captain says something but I miss it and only catch them saying: “Why can’t I leave?”

“It’s a-” I cut myself off when I realise that they aren’t asking about it again. “Pardon?”

“There is an invisible wall! Why?!” they scream, voice filled with anguish. “Are you trying to keep us here until that thing gets us? Is that it?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” that’s half a lie. I know that I can’t leave, I’m aware of why too. I don’t know about them, not yet anyway. I could find the answer when I’m tidying and reorganising the library they destroyed.

Their glare hardens, I think I didn’t hear what they said again for a second because they grab me by my collar and shove me against the invisible barrier that’s so hot against my face it burns my skin. It tries to push me in, thinking that I’m trying to get out but the captain is stronger and holds me in place and I suffer for it. “How about now?”

I don’t have any other way to get out of this. “It’s to keep me in.”

Their grip loosens and I take the opportunity to push away from the wall with my hands. My skin on my cheek and my palms is itchy with the heat, and I’m sure it’s sizzling. I touch it gingerly while they take their time trying to process what I’ve just said. I’m going to need an ointment to cool the burn. It’s the only thing that causes some serious harm to me and I pray to the Gods that it doesn’t scar my face or destroy my hands forever.

“What did you do to need a magic barrier to keep you inside?” they ask, shattering the thick silence. The glare they wear stabs me and pains me in my heart although that might be guilt. What happened is a big family secret. The nearest village used to know, so did a lot of the nobles but I was given the books that documented the event and I hid them. Now it’s all speculation in the village as to why my family haven’t been seen in generations. Sometimes they say there’s a hideous ailment on our faces and we’re so ashamed that we hide ourselves. I touch my face, this could be true soon enough.

Normally the rumours and gossip are about curses and the curses beginnings. It’s having murdered a witching family or killed a powerful witch who cursed us so our first borns would die. None can explain where my own witchy-powers come into that. Sometimes we’re cursed by the fae and have changeling children so we hide ourselves so none will know. Or the curse is as small as we lose a coin everytime we leave the house and that’s why we pay our taxes with “useful” spells (mostly just belief spells that don’t change anything but make people think they do). There’s lots of different stories, none of them true of course. I don’t mind them so much because it keeps tourists from bothering me and the townsfolk don’t wait around too long for orders and deliveries because they think the curses are catching like the plague. But curses can’t spread like that; you can cast a curse on someone and they can hide, however, it will catch up with them at some point.

“Excuse me? Can you answer my question?” I stare at them blankly, I’ve already forgotten. Captain lets out a loud sigh and repeats, “Why do you need a barrier to keep you in?”

I don’t answer. “I need to fix the window you broke.”

“Damn you!”

My heart pounds like a drum against my chest. I don’t need to be damned anymore than I already have been. I’m already in Hel.

“Answer my questions.”

“I really ought to be going.” I try to skirt around them, just out of reach from their grasp so they can’t shove me up a wall again. Their shoulders drop and their posture slumps. I should say something comforting to let them know that we can figure it out and that they’ll be out soon because I don’t want them here just as much as they don’t want to be here. No, I shouldn’t say that. “You’re welcome to stay until you can leave.”

_ That’s perfect, Oswine, that’s a perfect answer, _ says the female voice in my head again. I should give them hope but I don’t think there is anything left. “Your friend should be awake in the morning. I’ll take you to his room.”


	4. The High Priestess

**Captain Rhodes’ P.O.V.**

_ “One always measures friendship in how they show up in bad weather.” _

  * _William Churchill_



With his ashy, aged and dark skin, Caine looks as if he’s on his deathbed. Not even the warm light of the fireplace can put life into his cheeks. His lips are cracked and his eyes are dark and sunken in his face while his skin hands off his body.

The stranger leaves me in the room with him, having answered none of my questions.

Who are you?

Why are you?

Why can't you nor I leave?

Can Caine leave, or Annie??

What was the thing in the woods and the library?

Are they the same thing?

He simply told me that Caine should be awake before sunrise and I noticed the small smile on his lips like he knew as I did - sunrise will be uncomfortable for the half dead man. The windows of the room were blacked out with boards and mud to cover the cracks. The fire is living behind a locked metal grate to keep the highly flammable Caine safe. Scattered around the room are rocks and crystals, some I’ve never seen before. But with the stranger being magic, I shouldn’t be shocked to see them dotted about. However, the room was filled with stones. I recognised a few, like granite, basalt and pearl spa dolomite - which was a weird stone with white crystals that look like mashed potato. There were a plethora of others that I didn’t recognise but the few I did know, I knew that they had protection, healing and grounding properties. Is he trying to save Caine? Or does he know what Caine is and is trying to protect the rest of us from him? It does explain the grate.

I flop into a wooden chair with boredom. Tapping my feet and lolling my head back and forth like a rag doll, I let my thoughts roam free. Can I break my neck with my head like this? This is the most uncomfortable wooden chair in the world. If I put my head back and rock the chair on two legs, I could probably break my neck. That’s what old mother’s warn their children, isn’t it? That and spilled salt means the devil is on your shoulder. Pushing the chair onto the back legs and balancing onto my tiptoes, I gently rock the chair and tilt my head back to stare at the room upside down. So many old wives tales, who thought of them? New shoes on the table? Black cats crossing your path means bad luck?

Someone gasps.

My head shoots up to see who it was and I lose my balance. I come crashing down and hit my head off the floor. “Bloody hell!” I shout. My head aches and the pain pulsates from the back of my skull. That isn’t one of my better ideas.

“Shhhhh…” Caine whispers. “My head hurts.”

Rubbing my head, I get to my feet and stand the chair back up to sit back down. “Oh shut up.” I’m very certain that I’m in more pain than he is currently.

"Where are we?" he asks. His voice is hoarse with thirst. His lungs rattle loudly now that he’s awake, it’s almost as if he’s breathing in dust.

"In a castle.” Did he see the castle before he passed out? Was it invisible for him too? Or was it just invisible for me?

He frowns, “Castle? What happened?”

I furrow my brow. “You were badly injured and bled until you passed out from the…” Blood loss or hunger? Both? Both. “Because we were attacked from something in the woods, do you remember? It was lurking there, waiting for someone. You fell over, but before that you were beaten pretty badly.” I don’t think it was human if it could hit Caine.

He waves his hand, “Don’t tell me things I don’t know. Why did you go to the castle?”

“It’s someplace safe - the owner knows us,” I add on before he had a chance to interrogate me, asking me if it really is safe and how could we trust strangers.

His eyebrows go up, “Oh, which nobleman is he?” Then he mutters to himself, “If we’re near scotland… Is he the fat one with the blond chest hair?”

I don’t want to know how he knows that Lord has blond chest hair and I’m better off not knowing. “He died decades ago.” I couldn’t remember the name either, though that does happen when you’re immortal. People fade. Maybe the stranger faded from my memory, but he’s too unforgettable to be forgotten. “I think this man is from before. He has black curly hair and… antlers. I think.” I’m not too sure because I was too busy shoving his face into the invisible barrier in a blind rage and still in that blind rage when he led me to Caine’s room to take proper notice of him.

Caine’s face lights at this. “Oswine! He  _ is  _ from before.” My heart leaps. A person from my past! He might have answers and help me piece- “He’s rather insignificant. You’ve met him once or twice?”

Nevermind.

“Who is he?”

“A witch - a Norse witch. The last one, in fact. He’s old but not as old as me.” As he smirks, the skin of his lips rip open as they stretch over his teeth. His mouth is very full.

“How is he alive?” I ask, hoping to get some answers.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” he glances behind me and there stands the stranger I now know to be Oswine.

He did have antlers. They were more like twigs - something you’d see on a nymph rather than a deer. He also had pointy ears sticking out of his black hair that is curled too perfectly to occur naturally. I don’t think he’s human, or at least not fully. He might be part nymph or elf. His face that was once red with burns is now clear and pale again. It could be magic or his immortality.

“How are you still alive?” I ask him.

Oswine shakes his head. My heart sinks a little but I’m not shocked. The story of how someone becomes immortal is usually a personal one and not always a pleasant one - it’s not usually gained through heroic acts but because they defied a God in some unforgivable way like Caine. Unfortunately for him and others similar to him, their story of obtaining immortality has been documented in books or passed on vocally to be used as a word of warning. Some immortals are created to avoid death, like Achilles who has terrible mother issues. As for my tale? I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m cursed or blessed and I’m left to decide that for myself. I can’t give an answer.

Oswine places a golden goblet on the table with Caine watching him intently, licking his lips. It’s filled to the brim with a red liquid I’m going to pretend is a rich, thick wine. Rather than help Caine up to feed him, he pulls up another chair and sits down.

Caine’s face falls. “You couldn’t have fed me? I thought witches are supposed to be caring,” he huffs.

“No, you can manage,” Oswine crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not a witch anymore, I’m now a wizard.” It’s only taken me until now to realise that Oswine has a Scottish accent. Well, mostly. It’s strangely dated but moderna and a mix of Old English - something Galahad has.

“What’s the difference?” I ask. I wasn’t aware there was one that, just that there aren’t much of either in England anymore.

“Wizards study, witches heal. I don’t heal.”

Caine scoffs. “Tell that to your local village, they seem awfully fond of you and your doctoring. And dare I say it, I’m brilliantly patched up.” Oswine’s face, which has always been sulky and gloomy, falls further than I thought he could. Caine, on the other hand, gives him a big bright smile. “Now do be a dear and please feed me. I’m thirsty.”

“As I said, you can manage.”

“But I’m weak and frail,” the other says with a quivering lip.

“Then starve.”

“You wound me.” He turns to me expectantly and I move before he can say it.

The witch (because Caine is right, Oswine did heal and look after us both and that does fit into his own definition of a witch) gives me an odd look but I ignore it, grabbing the goblet and trying my best not to stare at liquid or think too much about it. Caine props himself up on his elbows and shakes under his own weight. As I hold the cup to his mouth so he can drink, he transforms. His body fills our his skin and the colour returns back into his cheeks. The dark and heavy bags under his eyes vanish but there is a crazed glint of hunger in his eyes. It isn’t long before he holds my hand to pour it down his throat faster and he can sit up by himself. Still holding onto my hands, he licks the rim and scoops the final bit up with his finger to lick it slowly, staring me in the eye as he does so. My face flares up with red at the odd sexual tension that’s created. He smirks and releases my hands so I can sit back down.

Oswine raises his brow at us both. He opens his mouth and I think he’s going to ask about the nature of our relationship but instead he says, “You’re going to wish you were much slower with that.”

Jumping to his feet, Caine begins to strip down his blood stained clothes from the other night. I don’t understand why he doesn’t wear black or even red, at least that way it wouldn’t show up and ruin so many of his clothes. “It wasn’t even the real thing, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll be hungry again soon but what will you do when that happens?”

“It’s none of my concern but of yours.”

Caine smiles or does he bare his teeth? It’s hard to say. “Oh but it is because I have you to snack on and…” he inhales deeply with his eyes closed. “A young one in this castle to bite from. Old blood tastes vile.” He’s always given that as a reason to not snack on me. I’ve always been curious about the sensation but also very scared.

Oswine doesn’t flinch. Is he used to Caine’s antics and semi-empty threats? It would be one hell of a risk to take if he isn’t sure Caine wouldn’t hurt any of us, certainly not one I would take. “She, nor I, are up for your taking. I shalln’t imagine that the Captain isn’t either.”

“Maybe I’m faster.”

I’m very uncomfortable with the tone we’ve created in the room so I decide to say something before they kill each other. “Why do you have antlers?”

Oswine looks at me in the eye, almost frowning. “Why do you have red hair?”

“I… Are you saying you were born with antlers?”

“No.” I scowl at him but before I could say anything, he’s already moving onto something else. “Why are you two here?”

Caine is rummaging through the wardrobe, pulling out the clothes in there to hold against his body only to shove it back in there because it’s not good enough. “Oh I’m  _ sure  _ the Captain has told you that we were chased,” he says as he admires a yellow tunic.

“It was… mentioned,” he touches his face where I shoved it into the wall. A pang of guilt hits me square in the chest. I should apologise for that. “But I’m going to need details to be able to help you with it. I saw the damage on you, it has a taste for you. I’d hate for it to arrive one day and be terribly under prepared for it.”

“And I’ve got a taste for it. I know what smells and I’m stronger and I’m faster,” he smiles.

“Yes, I could  _ tell  _ from when you arrived on my castle door half dead because of it.”

“That wasn’t entirely my fault, you’ll have to ask Captain Rhodes for the details, for you see, I was passed out.”

That’s a very clever way of saying nearly dead. The pair of them turn to me for answers but Caine’s face feigns a genuine curiosity with an underlying hint of threat. I don’t dare find out what the consequence will be but I don’t entirely know why I should lie either. “I don’t know,” I stutter, my eyes lingering a little too long on Caine before I drag them to look at Oswine, “It was just a monster in the woods.” The over simplified truth will always be my friend.

However, the dropping of the conversation doesn’t happen. Instead Caine scrunches his face up in annoyance and Oswine rolls his eyes. “That I already know,” the witch says. “Did you see it? Did you hear it? What did it make you feel - it might be the feeling of magic.” He inches further off his seat with anticipation and I lean further back.

I let myself think about it, and the memories come flooding through the gates in a mess. Flashes of a dark beastly shadow, snarling and snorting like a feral dog in the trees. It hunted us in the dark.

We were fools.

Something was wrong.

We had no fire. We had no fire. We had no-

I can’t breathe. It hurts.

“What’s a little fun in the dark?” Caine smiled. “It won’t hurt us.”

But his blood dripped from the beast’s claws. His blood oozed from it’s mouth. I clench the seat of the chair. It tore Caine apart and his screams… nothing like it. In the laughter there was pride. Too much pride but who-

We ran. We ran so far and my lungs burned. Twigs snapped. Leaves crunched. Rocks rolled under my feet and the branches… He held my hand and dragged me through the woods. I couldn’t keep up. I tripp-

Someone places a hand on my shoulder and I punch him in the face.

“You son of a-!” Caine yells out.

I jump out of my seat and step back. The chairs clatters against the stone floor, causing me to startle more. My heart pounds loudly in my ears, I don’t know what’s happening. What’s happening?

“Captain breathe slowly.” Ozzy says, careful not touch me but has his arms out and palms facing me. “It’s okay. You’re okay. He’s okay.”

I glance at Caine, my chest still wheezing. I think I’m crying. He’s holding his face and looks as if he’s deciding something. What’s he going to do?

Oswine kicks him in the shine and gestures towards me with his head as he mouths something I can’t see to Caine. Caine forces a smile, “I’m okay. It’ll be okay.”

“I want to go to bed.”


	5. The Empress

**Captain Rhodes’ P.O.V.**

Throwing the doors wide open, I stride into the dining room with a weary spring in my step. Sunlight streams through the arched windows facing east which casts a cool but welcoming hue on the otherwise empty dining room. The fire is already blazing in the fireplace and the pot is gurgling away. There’s a thick smell of fresh porridge and sweet honey around me and as I approach the pot, I see Annie standing on the other side in the kitchen putting it all together. Her hair is tied in a tight bun with her sleeves pushed up her arms. Her face is a bright pink and sweaty with the heat of the fire.

Part of me wishes there is no one here and it is just me so I can be alone to gather my thoughts, but the other half of me is grateful that if anyone is going to here, it’s her. Between trying to manage Caine’s mood and getting Oswine to tell me anything, she is the better of the options after the night I’ve had.

“Good morning Miss,” I say with a yawn.

She cranes her head under the fireplace and smiles at me. “Morning Captain, how are you today?”

“Merrier after seeing your smiling face and smelling that lovely food.” I wouldn’t be lying if I said it made me feel better. I didn’t sleep much. Last night I tossed and I turned for what felt like eternity trying to find a comfortable place to sleep. When I finally drifted off, I was plagued with nightmares and woke up only remembering ghosts and echoes: drenched in my own sweat and shivering.

Annie’s face flushes, which I don’t think is possible. “You flatter me, Captain,” she stutters out.

“I’m only being honest, Miss. Anyone would be cheerier after seeing you.” Maybe I’m being too forward and maybe I shouldn’t be so until I figure out the nature of his relationship with Annie. Before I thought it was some servant and master dynamic but after Caine’s tease and Oswine’s reaction, I can’t be too sure. “Where’s Oswine this morning?”

She walks to the back of the kitchen to a pile of clean dishes. She tries to pry three bowls from the very bottom out but makes an awful clatter in doing so. “Believe he’s still trying to tidy up the library and the glass. Heard him shouting spells from my bedroom this morning. Was a mighty shock to me to see the glass across the lawn.”

A pang of guilt hits me in the chest, I shouldn’t have gone about escaping the way I did. The door is more appropriate, even if the window is more thrilling. I was also being chased by a shadow monster that really didn’t want me to leave and it wouldn’t have predicted the window grand exit. “What is in the library?”

Annie walks back to the fireplace with the bowls, setting all three down on the hearth. “Don’t know Captain, I try to avoid it if possible and ignore anything I see and hear in there.” I have a feeling that’s how Oswine deals with it too. “Given the sir’s nature, he attracts a lot of unique beasts. He can’t stand it, he’d rather be alone.”

“Then why are you here?”

Grabbing a ladle, she fills the three bowls up with porridge and then pauses. “Is Caine awake?”

“No,” I lie. It’s easier than having to explain that he won’t eat it and why he won’t eat it even though I am certain he can eat food like everyone else and simply chooses not to.

Annie nods. She mumbles something to herself about the bowls as she picks two of them up and walks around to the little door to the left that blends in all too well with the dining room decor. “I stay because he’d be utterly useless without me.”

She places the two bowls down on the table beside the spoons that are already laid out for us - in the head seat and the two beside it. I contemplate moving into Oswine’s chair but if I can’t leave then I should try to get on with him.

My heart drops.

I can’t leave.

But I don’t want to about it so I dig into breakfast. It’s not too bland to be boring but not too sweet to be sickly. It’s perfect. “If he attracts all sorts like you say, ought you leave?” She’d be safer away from Caine. I don’t know if he was joking or not - I can never be too sure even if Oswine is confident in calling his bluff.

“Sometimes people get too comfortable in their loneliness they don’t actually realise they miss company. Who would talk to him?” I think a better question would be who would talk  _ at  _ him. “I won’t be around forever, I will be gone too soon for someone like him, but I hope to make a lasting impression so he doesn’t stay completely isolated and ostracised, so he can have company and friends.”

I think part of the reason why he doesn’t have anyone else around because he doesn’t want to outlive them. It’s common with people like us. Living forever is everyone else dying and no one wants that. Not really. There are merrier ways to look at it: living forever is meeting wonderful people all the time and seeing them again in their next life, if they believe in that. I don’t stay around to see someone die. I don’t stay long enough to get attached. I have Caine, I suppose I have Lucifer and Sir Galahad, and I have stories of others. That’s all I’ve needed.

Not liking how I’m thinking or the lost feeling, or the tight, silent air that’s filled with big unbreathable thoughts and one nagging one, one that won’t shut up or go away but is a good icebreaker, I ask, “Why does he have antlers?”

“Why are you so obsessed with it?” asks the familiar strange accent from the shabby kitchen door. Oswine is holding the bowl of porridge that was left for him and still has his antlers. His ears stuck out of his curly black hair and he looked tired.

My face burns red but I pretend that I’m not mortified from being caught. “You look peculiar and not at all human.”

He sits down in his seat and tries (and failing) to hide a smirk. “I’d love to hear your theories.”

I lean towards him to study his face more clearly. His skin is clear - no sign of the burns from last night but heavier bags sat under his eyes, his violet eyes. Now that’s odd. “You have purple eyes and antlers - nymphs have antlers.”

“So do fawns.”

I glance down at his legs, “You don’t have the goats half. No, you’re part nymph and human. But then elves don’t like outsiders, I’d say they’d hate them as much as you do. With their more human skin tone, you could be a cross between the two especially as both hate sharing information with people. Am I right?”

Oswine beams at me and my heart goes up, because I am right. “No.”

Shit.

I frown, “Would you tell me if I was?”

The smile remains of his stupid face, “No.”

Before I can pester him further, Annie chimes in, “How’s the library, sir?” I sink back into my seat and continue to eat the warm breakfast reluctantly. I will find out one day. I really will.

He shrugs. “There’s a lot to do and I need to sleep.”

The guilt smacks me again. “I could help?” I offer, not knowing what use I could be. I could organise the books, I suppose, in colour order. And put the shelves back into place. It would be something.

“Take this wrong way: you’ll make it worse.”

Annie nudges him in the arm, hard. He opens his mouth to say something else and Caine bursts into the dining room. Our heads snap around to look at him and I can’t help but smile at him. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over to find you.” Maybe he’s going to ask if I’m feeling better or if I had a good night's sleep or something. He comes over and sits down beside me with a grin. I try hard to mask my surprise; it’s not often he’s in a good mood and they don’t often last long.

“It shouldn’t have taken you long at all,” I say, hoping to get him into a mildly jokey mood so he wouldn’t be easy to set off. Besides he really shouldn’t have been looking everywhere for me, he should know exactly what I smell like by now to be able to pick me out in the crowd blindfolded.

“Yes, well I’ve been busy packing and gathering supplies.”

“Funny, I haven’t seen you in the kitchen,” says Oswine with a bemused smirk as he picks at his porridge. He rests his head on his hand on the table, relaxed.

Annie looks a little frantic as she tries to figure out if she should get up and get Caine some porridge and bounces off her seat but then she decides against that and then tries to interrupt us however, she can’t get a word in quick enough.

A confused frown flashes on Caine’s smiling face for a second, “Not for them, but for me. Seeing as I’m not allowed any of the snacks around here.”

“If Oswine said that then you can ignore him,” Annie blurts out. “And Oswine, elbows off the table!” He rolls his eyes but does as he’s told and she turns back to Caine. “I can get you some porridge, if you want some porridge,” she bolts up, much to Caine’s alarm and surprise.

He stares at her with concern that she’s going to die at any moment for not being hospitable enough. “It’s okay darling, my diet doesn’t allow for such things because I’ll get a stomach ache. It’s best if I obtain it myself. It’s a bit more of a hassle if other’s fetch it.”

Annie’s face turns a deep shade of red and she sits back down slowly, muttering apologies.

Oswine eyes him. “You haven’t hurt anyone, have you?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Caine’s smug expression returns which causes Oswine’s to harden.

“I have to heal them if you did.”

There’s a bitterness in his tone, one that suggests that he hates that more than anything and something I can poke fun at. “And you claim you’re not a witch.”

He shoots me with cold glare, “I only am because Annie insists.”

She lets out an offended laugh, “I insist so we have money! How do you think we have food, or new clothes, or resources to repair the castle? They’re good people who need you, it can’t hurt to help them!”

Caine waves his hands in the air, turning all of the attention back to him. ““Wait, the worst thing would be to heal people?” He raises a troubled brow. “What sort of doctor are you?”

“One that wants to be left alone,” the witch spits back. He stands up and the chair scrapes the stone floor with an awful squeak.

Caine smiles, “Don’t worry. Captain and I will be out of your hair today.”

Annie’s face softens and her eyes turn big and round. They start to well up. “You’re leaving?”

Oswine glares at me, “You haven’t told them?”

I sink into the chair, trying to avoid everyone’s pissed off gaze. “Haven’t had the time?” It’s a weak excuse but the best thing I’ve got.

“Told me what?” There’s a sharpness in Caine’s tone that wasn’t there before. I laugh nervously and he repeats it with a stricter tone.

“I can’t leave.”

I swear to the Gods above and the Gods below that his eyes turn red before he shuts them and breathes in slowly. He breathes out slowly. He clenches and unclenches his fists. “What do you mean, you can’t leave?” I can tell his holding back because his voice is strained.

“I can’t leave,” I repeat.

“You tried to leave me here?”

“I was being chased! I panicked!” My heart raced, I can’t believe that I’m being accused of this, of something that I wasn’t even trying to do.

“I wouldn’t have left you here if you were unconscious and half dead to fend for yourself from a monster.”

“The monster is fairly harmless if you don’t talk to it,” Oswine mutters. Annie sinks lower into her seat and pretends none of this is happening.

“Exactly there was no reason to leave.”

Defeated, and with no one else willing to help argue my way out of it, I sigh. There’s only one to deal with him and this and it’s to focus on what he’s focusing on. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to leave you behind, it was selfish.”

He relaxes, his expression softens. I melt with relief that that was the right answer and he let it go so quickly. He can be quite stubborn and hold a grudge for days, once a full two weeks because I wore his least favourite colour on me, not that he should be bothered by the colour of my clothes. Sea green apparently washes me out and makes me look sickly pale. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted. Now, there surely might be a way out of here.”

Caine looks at Oswine, who is edging his way to the door and waiting for his chance to leave. “There isn’t. I’ve tried everything.”

Caine stands up and grins, “There must be something you haven’t tried and I’ll find it. Come on Captain,” He grabs my wrist and pulls me out of my chair. I try to grab my half eaten bowl of porridge but it slips out of my grasp. Sometimes I think Caine forgets that I still get hungry and that I have a very human diet. Sometimes I think he doesn’t care. Right now I’m not sure which it is.

He drags me down the corridor, stamping his feet as loud as he can and causing an echo through the castle. I try to slow him down and start to slip out of his grip, but he tightens his hold around my wrist until it hurts. I can’t complain. Instead, I stumble behind him and stare at the tapestries and paintings of… well I don’t know what. Family members I think. Or old servants or friends. Their expressions are distorted, blank yet scared.

Once we’re outside, he let’s go of me and starts marching to the gatehouse. I fall back a little, rubbing my wrist that’s gone red from his tight grip. It’s a little raw but nothing too noticeable. The garden is filled with beautiful flowers in bright colours stretching out across the grounds. Most of them are purple: lavender, bluebells, pansies, irises… g They have a sharp, and sweet but powerful smell, I’m surprised I didn’t notice it last night. There are a few green plants, nothing I recognise. They look like brambles and weeds but I’m sure Oswine uses them for magic and other witchy things I don’t understand.

I stop besides Caine outside of the gatehouse. The doors are closed again.

“Prove it,” he says. I flinch at him but I take the dare.

I yank the doors open by their iron ring door handles, using all of my might just to get them to budge. It was easier last night to move them, during the panic. I press my hand against the invisible barrier. It doesn’t burn, not like it did to Oswine’s face, which I still need to apologise for. Instead of that, it glows with a pale green hue outlining my hand. That hue is the only indication that I can’t leave, otherwise it looks like I can easily step out into the open world.

Caine nods. “Did you hit it?” I make a fist and punch the wall for him. “Ah,” he says.

“What’s your big idea now?”

He looks around. I can already see the list of ideas appearing in his head as the cogs go round. “We climb the wall.”

I glance at the wall surrounding the castle. It’s easily 3 yards tall, even with the deterioration and weathering. “I don’t have any pitons to climb it with.”

“I can hoist you up and over. I’m a big and strong man,” he says, flexing a little. I laugh, happy that his foul mood has disappeared just like that and he’s being himself again. “I’m being serious, I can lift you up.”

“You haven’t eaten since last night and you didn’t eat a lot.”

“I can still give you a boost.” He bends his knees and links his hands together for a foot hold.

He’s hiding something from me. Without wanting to push him on the subject and why he can do that, I step into his hands and he shakes under my weight. Maybe he doesn’t have a good stance rather than him being too weak to actually be able to carry me up. Yes, that has to be it. Holding onto the wall with my one hand and his head with my other, I step onto his shoulder as he lifts my foot higher so I can stand on his shoulders. Shakily, I move my other hand to the wall, where it now comes to my waist. Caine holds onto my feet for stability.

“Do I stand on the wall or just touch it?”

“I… Don’t… Care,” he strains out.

I get my knee onto the wall and push up. The stone is rough and old but stable enough for my stand on it with confidence. Gently, I kick over the wall and sure enough, my foot hits a wall. I lean on it with my hands and reach as high as I can. There’s still a wall.

“Well?” Caine asks. There’s a little bit of hope in his voice.

“We can’t climb over it.”

He reaches his hands towards me and I stare at him in confusion. Is he going to help me get down? “Pull me up and you can stand on my shoulders. See if there’s a difference.”

I almost laugh at the idea, “Caine you nearly collapsed under my weight and this wall is pretty tall. We could fall and break our necks.”

He rolls his eyes and drops his hands, “An idea for later then. Walk the length of the wall, see if there’s a weaker point or something?”

I nod once and start to walk along the wall, using the barrier as support. Glancing back at the castle, I notice Oswine is outside and is watching us with his hands on his hips. The grass around him is shimmering with an assortment of colours and behind him is the window I broke. Half of it is complete, he’s put together the sky and the top off Jesus and the heads of both of the thieves. A bookcase is leaning over the wall and books are spilling out, some are caught because of the wall but others are damaged and ripped.

It doesn’t take long before I’m confidently walking along the wall, even the ruined parts that move under my feet, rather than gingerly stepping and testing my weight where it seems like it would crumble underneath me. It wouldn’t surprise me if the witch had spelled the wall to stay up and strong to keep everyone else out and away. Why is that? If I were him, I’d find reasons to bring people in and to make friends so I’m not alone. Unless I was hiding something or scared of people. Or both. Maybe it’s neither and he just doesn’t like people because Oswine isn’t me and I’m not him. What does he have to hide?

“Why are you thinking so hard?” Caine asks. I startle and press myself against the barrier when I wobble.

“Just concentrating on the magic.”

He frowns at this, “Talk to me, I’m bored.”

“You didn’t have to come. You could’ve done something else while I did this.”

He shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you’d do it.”

That stings. How could he think I wouldn’t do this? I hate being trapped, I’m not meant for it. I’m not meant for staying in one place forever, I’m meant to explore. At least I think so. I don’t have any memory from before so my purpose is all up to me unlike Sir Galahad and Caine. “I don’t want to be here forever either, of course I was going to do it.”

“Do you think the witch did this?”

“No. I pressed his face against the barrier and demanded he let me out and he didn’t so I don’t think he could if he wanted to.” He probably does want to let me out.

“Then why isn’t he helping?” He looks back to Oswine but we can’t see where he once was, there’s a different building in the way of our sight.

I didn’t answer, I don’t think Caine wanted me to answer. I think the witch knows that trying to escape is futile. He’s magic, he’s probably tried everything we can think of and more and then he gave up. That hope dwindled into nothingness. Or he accepted his fate when all of this happened and never bothered to try to escape. I, however, refuse to be without hope.

It isn’t too long before the wall goes much further away from the castle and begins to enter the beginnings of a forest. The grass is dead with the lack of sunlight from the trees’ overbearing shadows. It’s almost eerie with the wall passing through it, as if the wall shouldn’t be here. One or two of the trees on the inside of the castle wall has fresh wood from where an axe has been put through. I think the trees are birch and yew and a few others I don’t recognise, something I’ve heard is sacred to the Norse but I’m not too certain.

I remove my hand from the barrier for a second to climb down some of the rubble that was part of the wall. The rocks are firmly in place and easily move under my feet and I carefully climb down and back up. I shift my weight back onto the barrier and scream as I fall to the floor with a hefty thud and a crack. A sneering pain shoots up my wrist from where I tried to catch myself.

“Has the barrier gone?” says Caine from the other side of the wall.

Is that all he cares about? The damned barrier? “I don’t know? I think so? Give me a second.”

“Be quick.”

I roll my eyes and hold my wrist close to my chest as I stand up with a little difficulty. With my other hand, I reach out to feel for the unseen wall that surrounds the place. Is that what made the castle invisible? But why did it come before I got into the castle walls? Three steps away from the wall and I feel it. “It’s here still.”

Caine sighs, “The wall might have been built much later. How annoying.”

There’s a sound of a small struggle and then he’s head pops over the wall. Then his body and then he jumps to my side with some ease. “Let us continue.”

I follow the barrier as it drifts further and further away from the brick wall and deeper into the forest, leading Caine who still seems a little irksome. I don’t talk to him and concentrate on just the walking. There’s a mist that hangs in the forest, glowing warm with the sunlight poking through the trees, but the winter or during twilight, this could turn to eerie. The ground is covered with a moss that is a rich green. It’s soft and squishy to walk on. It grows over the stones; some of them are larger than the others, are flatter and stand a little taller despite being weathered and worn down from the possible centuries they’ve been sitting there.

Graves.

Closing my eyes, I thank them and hoped that they had a safe passing to their underworld. Not outloud, Caine would ridicule me for something so stupid but the dead only want to be acknowledged and remembered.

Two of the castle turrets stand out above the trees. One stands tall and grand, it has large windows with stained glass pictures in them - these ones I don’t think are religious. Nature has already started to grow up it so it’s not that recent of a build but the other tower has been completely taken over by nature. Ivy covers it, weeds and flowers grow in the small window cracks that would’ve been arrow slits. More than that, a tree is growing out of the side of it, causing the entire tower lean over and twist at an alarming angle that should’ve made it topple over by now.

Eventually, we get back to the gatehouse. My stomach rumbles and whines. I still can’t believe I haven’t been allowed to finish my breakfast and now the man isn’t letting me eat lunch either.

“We don’t rest until we figure this out,” he says.

My wrist still hurts.

He lists all the other things we need to do but I don’t listen, too busy watching Oswine on the grass performing magic spells on the window. It’s fun watching the glass glimmer and sparkle under the sun as the witch guides it through the air and in place back in the window. More of it has been done since we left him earlier and the bookshelf is no longer sticking through the window, but I don’t think he’d even gotten started on the mess in the library yet. Maybe he’s avoiding the beast inside.

Caine taps his foot impatiently.

He decides that he needs to find out if this can be transferred. I don’t really know what he means until he cuts the palm of my hand - the hand with the broken wrist - and smear my blood over a stone. The grit stings my palm but I don’t say anything and with curiosity, I watch him throw the stone over the wall. My blood wipes off as the stone passes through the barrier.

“Interesting,” he says.

“What is?” It just tells us what we already know, I can’t pass through so duh, neither would my blood either. Unless he was hoping to cut me into pieces and then pass me through? If so, I hope he doesn’t actually try it.

He waves me off and then stares at the wall, pulling a face at it as he thinks. “Did you feel a lure to the castle the other night?”

“I felt pushed into it because we were being chased through the woods by something that wanted to eat us, yes.”

“I wonder if you need to be lured out of the castle.”

“I was chased through the castle by a different monster that wanted to make a deal with me, so I don’t think that will work?” Is he even listening to me? I wouldn’t say that I felt a pull even by the monsters, I’d say that the castle revealed itself to me because I was desperate or scared. I needed to be safe and it provided. I’ll have to ask Oswine this too.

He opens the gatehouse doors then comes back to grab my good wrist. Again he is dragging me to the barrier but rather than make me prove it to him, this time he tries to pull me through to the other side. I’m met with some resistance from the wall. It hurts my fingers, my knuckles, wherever my hand is in contact with the magic wall. My hand twists in Caine’s grip around so he holds me awkwardly and uncomfortably . He pulls harder and harder against me and the barrier refusing to give up.

“Caine, stop,” I whimper. My eyes well up with tears.

He doesn’t listen. He keeps going. The fear twists and turns in me. I try yank my hand from his grip, even using the barrier to push against him. The light shines on his face and there’s a determination in his eyes. My blood is pounding and my heart is going too fast it hurts. Or it’s stopped.

CRACK!

The immense pain, the noise, I yank my hand away from him at the same time he let’s go. “Caine!” I stumble a few steps backwards and land on my arse. I bring my knees to my chest and cry with the uncomfortable pain that’s now shooting in my left wrist and aching in the other.

He marches back through the gatehouse and looms over me. His presence is demanding and loud. “Give me your hand,” he says soft but firm, demanding but suggestive of something else - a hint of a “Try me, I dare you.”

I dared him. I turn my whole body away and hold my injured wrists by my chest and wishing I could heal a lot faster. Immortality is great, I can heal on my own and never die of illness or accident (or murder but no one has tried yet), but healing isn’t instant.

“If we don’t try to leave now and push the boundaries then-”

“No.”

I look up. Oswine stands with us. His face stony and cold, with purple eyes that pierce through Caine’s immortal soul. “This is enough. You know I can’t escape and neither will they by the looks of it. Stop trying to push your luck with it.”

“We don’t know that.”

Oswine breathes in, “I’ve been living here for centuries, if there was a secret way out I would have found it by now.” Before Caine can say anything else, Oswine looks down at me. “Come. Annie will patch you up.”


End file.
